


The Crow:  Retribution

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-03
Updated: 2005-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian and Justin exact retribution for their untimely deaths.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

_A smile._

_"It was the best night of my life."_

_A smirk._

_"Even if it was ridiculously romantic."_

_A kiss._

Darkness. So deep it's like an ebony curtain drawn across a soot-stained window. Seems solid enough to touch__

Oh God, there's something over him. Around him. He lashes out, clawing at the soft, silky darkness until his fingers reach a hard surface.

No! It can't be…

He pushes, muscles coiling and uncoiling as he struggles against the hard pitch blackness that is his entire world. He hears something creak, groan, then crack. Encouraged, he redoubles his effort. 

A bird calls.

Where is he? 

_"Justin!"_

No matter. Just push. Just get out of here. Out of this—

Don't think about it, just push.

And he does.

The bird cries out again and then he hears a rumble and a great weight falls against his sky. But for the first time he feels air seeping into where he is and it encourages him to push even harder until—

He's free.

The broken pieces of concrete thud on the snow-covered ground. The mahogany coffin lid follows. He bursts through the yawning mouth of the grave and screams into the night, eyes shut against the starlight as pain courses through his body, awakening each slumbering cell.

Oh God.

He's been buried.

He's been dead.

_I am dead._

Chest heaving, he leans against the headstone of his grave. Towering over him, an angel, wings rampant. He almost grins. Must have been Mikey's doing. Always used to call him a fallen angel. 

_I'm dead._

The thought keeps returning and he keeps chasing it away.

Snow falls softly in the night. He begins to shiver. The suit he's wearing is thin and open in the back. Not one of his definitely. Must be one of those "burial suits" the funeral homes keep on hand. He throws it off. Good ole Mikey. No point in wasting perfectly good Armani on a dead man even if that dead man is Brian Kinney. Besides, he'll be able to get his clothes back as soon as—

As what? As soon as he walks from the cemetery to the loft? 

_I'm dead._

He looks down at his feet; he's wearing socks, no shoes. Long trek in the snow without Prada or Kenneth Cole. Why'd he have to come back in fuckin' winter? Which begs another question.

Why is he back?

And then another question.

Where is Justin?

The sound of wings alarms him and he ducks as a crow lands on the top of the angel's head. Caws. He looks up and hazel eyes meet black. Brian blinks and gets a momentary glimpse of himself, cowering against the robe of a stone angel, hair even more disheveled than normal. 

He closes his eyes again, this time letting them stay closed. Yet he can still see himself. Then the scene shifts. Row after row of headstones. An iron fence in the distance. Then himself again. He opens his eyes.

"Fuck."

The crow caws again, then takes to wing and flies over to the next grave. 

A deeper cold shakes Brian. 

No…

_One last kiss and then, "Later."_

_"Later."_

_A blinding smile._

He refuses to look around and keeps his eyes wide open. He doesn't want to see. 

_"Justin!"_

The crow begins to peck on stone, each tap sending a shiver through Brian's body. Gathering his courage, he turns and crawls over to the grave where a matching angel keeps watch. Through the snow he reads on the base of the angel's pedestal: ust Tay or. 

"No…"

He wipes away the rest of the snow, fingers reddening from the cold. A tear slips down his cheek, leaving a chilly trail. "Justin…" 

_He calls out a warning, "Justin!" just as the man raises the bat. Before he can move, the man swings and the sound of the bat connecting with Justin's forehead fills the parking garage. He runs as fast as he can, hoping to tackle the guy to the ground before he can hit Justin again. He never thinks about himself. Not until the bat strikes his shoulder and then the arm he raises in self-defense. Until it collides with his head and pain explodes like a supernova enveloping his entire body. He falls. Dead weight. The last thing he's aware of is something warm flowing beneath his hand. Justin's blood or his own._

Pain. Pain unending. Not from his wounds which have miraculously healed but from the thought of never seeing his love again. Why? Why did he live and Justin remain dead? Why couldn't they have let him rest? Why is he here?

The crow taps on the stone once more and Brian starts to drive it away when the ground begins to tremble. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Brian crouches above the gravesite, raises his fists, and brings them down hard upon the concrete surface. Thud! 

Tap. Tap.

Thud!

Then faintly, an answering sound. He strikes the top once more and it cracks. His hands a pair of ragged claws, he separates the two halves and they fall to the side, useless. 

_Here I opened wide the door…_

There is no victory for the grave. The top of the coffin rises.

"Justin?"

The top is thrown back and a tousled blond head appears. Two troubled blue eyes. "Brian…?" The word becomes a incomprehensible moan. 

Dragging his lover free of the coffin, Brian holds him as the younger man shivers and shrieks in agony, his body sloughing off death.

And all around them, the fortunate dead lie resting in their graves while the snow falls silently. 

 

*Poetry: "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe, 1845


	2. The Crow:  Retribution

Guided by a shadow in flight, they stumble from the cemetery and make their way towards a destination of the bird's choosing. Justin's shaking badly, either from the shock of being alive—dead—alive or from being nearly barefoot in twenty degree weather. Finally Brian lifts his lover and carries him over Justin's protests. He's used to going barefoot in the loft. Besides, he's dead. The cold can only kill him. Again. 

As they get within blocks of Tremont, Brian knows where they're headed.

The loft.

Once they're in front of his building, Brian sets Justin on his feet and punches in the security code. Still works. They slip inside and up the stairs uncertain as to what they'll find. Michael? A new owner? 

He has no key but no matter; he grips the handle and pulls. Metal screeches as it's warped. The door slides open. 

_"Coming in?"_

_"Oh. Yeah."_

_"Shut the door."_

Justin follows Brian inside and like he did all those months ago, he shuts the door and looks around in wonder.

"It's empty," Brian says unnecessarily as they both can see the sheets covering the fine Italian furniture.

"I wonder how long…" Justin's question dies away. 

_How long we've been dead?_

Brian tries a light switch but there's no power. "Can't check the TV then." He wanders over to the kitchen counter and runs his finger through the dust that's accumulated. 

"Newspaper," suggests Justin. He looks towards the dining area remembering.

_Brian pours a bottle of water over his head. His naked torso glistens._

_Justin can barely think as Brian slips off his thong. Arms outstretched, like some fallen angel come to tempt mankind, Brian purrs, "So are you coming or going? Or coming and then going? Or coming and staying?"_

"Justin?"

"Just… remembering."

A flutter of shadow against the night alerts Brian to the presence of their guide. He raises a window and the crow flies inside and perches on the back of a sheet-covered chair. 

"What is that?"

"A crow," Brian replies.

_One crow for sorrow/ Two crows for joy…_

"But what does it have to do with us? What's going on? Brian—"

Brian cuts off the flow of questions with a tight embrace. "I don't know. But I think it woke us up."

"How?"

He shakes his head. "I watched it tap on your headstone and then you awakened, Justin. I helped you break out of your fuckin' grave." The panic he's been suppressing rises. 

The Justin asks the question Brian has been dreading. "How did we die?"

_"Justin!"_

Brian flinches.

"The last thing I remember is saying goodbye and heading back inside. To see Daphne."

_"Daphne, you look hot. I'd fuck you."_

Justin watches his lover's face pale. "Brian?"

_Blood pools beneath Justin's head, a crimson halo._

Voice sounding as if he were whispering in a cavern, Brian says, "I watched you walk away. You were smiling. You had my white silk scarf around your neck. You were so beautiful. That's when I knew why Debbie called you Sunshine. You were the brightest fucking thing I'd ever seen." His features tense. "I got in the Jeep and I was watching you in the side mirror. That’s when I saw him."

"Who?"

_The confrontation outside of Woody's, Justin feeling proud of himself and Brian saying sardonically, "Congratulations, you just made yourself a real enemy."_

Unconsciously, Brian begins to stroke Justin's arm. "That kid. The one you gave the handjob to. That asshole Hobbs."

Justin moves away slightly. Frowns in disbelief. "Hobbs?" Brian warned him he'd be trouble. "How?"

"He had a baseball bat." Brian shuts his eyes but this time he does not share the crow's vision, this time he is alone in a hellish landscape: a darkened parking garage illuminated by a few sickly lights. He shouts, "Justin!" and runs but it's too late.

"I called out to you. And you turned. And he hit you. You fell so hard yet it couldn't compare to the sound of that bat hitting your head. I ran towards you. I wanted to stop him from hitting you again…" He takes a deep breath. "But he swung at me as soon as I got close to you. I tried to protect myself but I couldn't." 

_Two strikes to the shoulder and arm in rapid succession, testament to the asshole's athletic prowess._

"He bashed in my head." The words conjure the vision and he shivers. "And then he must have finished you off." Justin sways and Brian catches him and holds him as the tears begin to flow from blue and hazel eyes.

"He killed us?" Justin asks softly.

"Graves don't lie. Least not those two."

"So why are we here?"

"That's the fuckin' $64,000 question." Brian can't meet Justin's eyes. "I tried to save you."

Justin's angelic face often fooled people into thinking he was an angel, but he's no angel. Rage surges through his veins. "It's not your fault. It's his. He has to pay." His blue eyes are diamond hard. "For what he did to us."

"Revenge?"

"No." He searches for the word. "A reckoning."

"Retribution," Brian offers and Justin agrees. 

"I wanna get biblical on his ass," the teen says and Brian laughs and, after a moment, so does Justin. However merry the sound, Brian sees a glint of madness in the boy's eyes that he knows matches the glint in his own. But, at least, now they have a purpose, a raison d'etre, if the dead, the living dead can be said to have a reason to exist. 

The crow caws and Brian sees a spark of life in his black, black eyes. Or maybe it's just the sun which is beginning to rise. A new day. A red day. 

Brian looks down at himself and smirks. "Even dead, I don’t want to be caught in this crap." Justin laughs and the crow caws again and leads them to Brian's bedroom.

It's almost too much to hope but Brian slides open the closet door and they're still there, all of his friends: Prada, Gucci, Armani, D&G, Hugo… He breathes a sigh of infinite relief which elicits another giggle from Justin. "What about me?" the teen asks.

Brian grins and digs deep into his closet. Brings out a box and hands it to his young love. Justin opens it.

"Brian…" Runs his fingers over smooth silk and supple leather.

"Happy Graduation." Although Justin's passage was something other than normal.

Justin lifts the leather pants from the box and then the black silk tee. "You got this for me?"

Instead of replying, Brian retrieves his own leather pants and a sheer black shirt from his closet. 

"A matching set," Justin observes. "What if someone sees us?"

"We'll have to be careful, only go out at night."

"But everybody's out at night."

"Sure as fuck can't walk around in the broad daylight."

"A disguise would help."

A feral grin stretches Brian's lips and he reaches into the closet and removes a small case. As Justin's inquiring brow lifts, he explains, "You never know what kind of kink a trick might be into and I aim to please." Opening the case, he removes pancake make-up and lipstick—black. 

Justin twists the tube and extends the tip. "Least it'll go with the leather and our fingernails."

"Hmm?" Brian looks at his hands and then at Justin's hands. "Fuck." Their nails are black. And somewhat longer than usual. A somber reminder of the grave. 

"I wonder what else has grown?"

Brian eases the waistband of his pants away from his belly. "Nope. Still looks the same."

Grinning, Justin says, "Our hair's a little longer. Looks good though."

"Just as well. No salons in hell."

Justin shudders as if someone just walked over his grave. "Do you think that's where we were?"

Despite his joke, Brian feels uneasy too. "I don't remember anything after the parking garage. And I don't want to."

A small smile creeps across Justin's lips like a kitten stalking its prey: tentative yet bold by fits and starts. "I remember our dance." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Brian grabs his hand and leads him down the stairs to the open space between the bedroom and the kitchen counter. Slips an arm about his waist and leads him around the makeshift dance floor and they sing snatches of the song they danced to that last magical evening. 

"Oh I know that the music is fine like sparkling wine/ Go and have your fun/ Laugh and sing but while we're apart / Don't give your heart to anyone…"

Justin looks up into Brian's eyes and whispers, "I gave my heart to you," and Brian kisses him tenderly, the way he did in the parking garage, and Justin understands. Coming to the prom was a big thing and Brian did it, did it for him.

_"I came to recapture my lost youth."_

_Justin._

_And the unsaid words, "I love you."_

"Sun's coming up," says Brian and Justin smiles as the light forms a corona around the older man's head. 

"You're an angel," he says.

"Of retribution," Brian adds. 

_…His mighty angels in flaming fire, dealing out retribution…_

"When do we start?"

"Tonight."

"So what do we do all day?" Justin asks and Brian's smirk is all the answer he needs. As he lets himself be led to the bedroom, a thought comes to him. "Brian?"

"Hmm?"

"Now that we're dead—Fuck! That's so weird!—do you think we can do it raw?"

Easing the teen back on the bed, Brian says as he nuzzles Justin's neck, "Hell, there ought to be some perks to the afterlife."

"Do you think we'll be able to get it up?"

"In life or death, Brian Kinney never disappoints." He reverses their positions and Justin kneels astride him, rubbing their cloth-covered cocks together as they kiss. Clutching Justin's ass in his palms, Brian urges him on. Feels the first incipient stirrings and grinds his cock into Justin's. The teen gasps into his mouth, then sucks on his tongue as they both grow harder. "Yes," Brian hisses as he steals a breath. 

He unbuttons Justin's shirt and eases it from his pale shoulders, then unbuttons and unzips his trousers. Reaches in to stroke his dick. 

"Brian." Justin feels Brian's broad hand cup his cock and begin to stroke. From balls to tip. Then he's flipped over and his pants are pulled down and off his legs, as are his socks and he watches as Brian strips as well. They come together in a kiss that deepens each time Brian's fingers make a circuit of Justin's cockhead. He begins to  
drip. Brian spreads the cool liquid over his turgid shaft. "Yes!"

Fingers wet with Justin's precum, Brian begins to knead Justin's hole. Using the sounds that emerge from his lover's mouth as his guide, he plies the tight knot of flesh until his fingers push through. Justin's back arches off the bed as Brian's fingers sink inside him and tap his prostate. 

"Oh! Now! Now. Brian…" His head rolls to the side. "Oh God…" 

Fingers sliding free, Brian raises the teen's legs onto his shoulders and presses his cock to his hole. 

Blue eyes dark with lust meet his. "Fuck me. I want to feel alive again."

He pushes forward.

_Hears the boy give a small cry._

_"Just relax. I want you to always remember this."_

Their bodies stay cool, despite the exertion. They don't sweat and he misses it. Misses the feel of it beneath his fingers as he grips Brian's back and bicep. Misses the smell of it, as much a part of the olfactory pleasure of sex as cum.

But the feel of Brian's naked cock plundering his ass more than makes up for the missing sweat. If he were alive, he'd die from the sensations coursing through his body. He feels everything: Brian's pubes tickling his hole, Brian's ballsac slapping against his ass, Brian's throbbing cockhead stroking his prostate, Brian's tongue in his mouth, hand around his cock. Scrabbling for the sheets, Justin cries out and his hips jerk. Cum splatters his neck and chest and even Brian's belly. Shaking, still caught in the throes of his orgasm, he can only squeeze his eyes shut and ride it out. He feels Brian's cock expand and become even harder; then it pulses, once, twice, again and again until he's lost in the aftershocks. "So good," he whispers. "So good…"

Even death cannot take this away from them.

Justin rolls Brian over onto his back and gives his iced raspberry lips one last kiss before settling down with his head upon Brian's chest. They're not tired and Justin wonders if they'll sleep. If they can anymore. After a moment, he says in a mournful tone, "I can't hear your heartbeat. I used to fall asleep listening to your heartbeat," he complains, and Brian's arm snakes around his back. Cold comfort but enough. 

Outside, the living begin to stir as the dead take their rest. 

 

*Verse: II Thessalonians 1:7-8 -- The Lord Jesus shall be revealed from heaven with His mighty angels in flaming fire, dealing out retribution to those who do not know God and to those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus.


End file.
